A Toast
by WallofIllusion
Summary: On a cold night of January 2019, Godot sees ample cause for celebration. Rated for swearing and general disturbingness.


Watch out, it's stream-of-consciousness.

SPOILERS FOR 3-5 LIKE WHOA

* * *

I'd like to make a toast.  
A toast to us, Kitten, and what we accomplished together, and to the fact that it ended today—finally after so many long years, not that I felt them go by. It's a special occasion so here we are at this restaurant, I brought you here once before (everything), do you remember? You liked it but that was in July, things got busy then and after that they stopped. But today here we are and there's champagne of course for the two of us (and two glasses) but there's a mug here too with coffee because I'll always be me—it's laughable, isn't it? Despite everything, despite what that bitch tried to do to me, I'm still me still here still _alive_, still drinking _coffee_ for god's sake, and now, as of a few happy hours ago, _she's_ the one who's dead, and I couldn't be happier—  
about that, at least, and god _damn_ it why am I not happy. I should be celebrating wildly raucously we could get drunk together Kitten drunk on our success on this champagne on each other, later, except we can't because god damn it god damn it god _damn_ it _why did you have to_

A toast  
To you.  
To you, my dearest my love my Kitten who while I was useless _you got her, you did it._ Today is for you, today is _because_ of you, today what you did is really over or it should be at least, she's got a plan that little bitch but I'll stop her, don't worry. I'll stop her and I'll save your sister I've got it all worked out, it'll be fine, and for god's sake I don't need _his_ help because _I_ can do it could have done it then too done better than that useless bastard but _god_ Kitten I am _so sorry_ if only I hadn't been

A toast  
To success. To what it feels like to know that that bitch is dead, finally. Hanged. I don't know about you Kitten but I get this sick sense of pleasure imagining it, imagining that black blindfold going over her eyes over her red hair and her being led to _where she would die_ and her fear and her knowing that there's no escape for her and feeling the noose like a necklace like that damn necklace that broke us both except you recovered, I wasn't there to see the full extent of it but you recovered sometimes I think I've recovered too but other times I'm still so broken you can't tell anyone that, Kitten, it's a secret only for you because it's because of you and because of what that _bastard_ let happen to you, but there's no way in hell I'd tell him, it's just for you. Anyway no, you wouldn't imagine any of this because you're (you-are yes _are_ even now, _are_) a good person a beautiful person so much purer than I was even when we met, infinitely purer than I am now. But will you listen anyway Kitten because god damn it I need to tell someone and I have no one and I know what I'm saying is disgusting but it's what I feel and you'll love me anyway won't you? Oh god please everything I do is for you, I know it's filthy but believe me it's for you

Anyway just this and I'll stop I promise, but I keep imagining what it must have felt like to stand there waiting and then feel the ground disappear and her hair'd fly upwards and her stomach would drop and those would have been the last things she felt before her neck snapped.  
I think about it and it gives me the shivers, because it would have been terrifying, _and she suffered that terror just a few hours ago, and now she's dead._ I hope her last thoughts were of hating you Kitten not that I want anyone to hate you but if she hated you that means that she felt defeated by you and damn, Kitten, did you defeat her. You were amazing. I hope that whenever that bitch thought of you she felt furious and trapped and pathetic, pathetic just like she's always been and now, just like she _was_. Ha. _Was_, past tense, past tense that is so delicious on my lips, a flavor as strong and overwhelming as 102, my favorite, and more intoxicating than any liquor _that_ is what I am truly drunk on, not this champagne, not anything else just the taste of _was_ on my lips.  
I'd like to make a toast—  
To the execution of Dahlia Hawthorne.


End file.
